Holmes Family Christmas
by jamesgatz1925
Summary: John is invited to Sherlock's family Christmas. I do not own these characters
1. Chapter 1

John didn't usually get mail. The mail was always sent to Sherlock, because, Sherlock liked everything to be in his name. This was because Sherlock was still counting down to the day John's going to leave him, even thought John assures Sherlock a million times a month that he's never leaving.

But today John got mail. There was no return address, there was nothing on it but John's name.

John was ripping it open as he climbed the stairs to his and Sherlock's flat.

"Hello, darling, how was your day?" Sherlock called to him from the sofa.

"It-fine-huh-" John was busy reading the card that was inside the envelope.

"John, what's that? Did you get mail? You never get mail." Sherlock got off the couch and met John in the middle of the living room, "Does that make you sad?"

"Huh, what?"

"That you don't get mail."

"No, why would it?"

"I don't know. People like mail. What is that?"

"It's an invitation."

"To what?"

John looked at Sherlock, almost scared, "Holmes Family Christmas."

Sherlock's face went straight. "From who?"

"Marie Thomas. Who is that?"

"My mother."

"Oh. Should I…do you not want me to go?"

"No, no! Do as you please. I'm not going to stop you."

"All right, I'll go then."

Sherlock huffed and threw himself back onto the couch.

"I won't go, then?" John asked, confused.

"No, no. You can come. It's about time you meet my mother."

John smiled and kissed Sherlock's forehead.

Two weeks later, Sherlock and John were packing for their three day weekend at Sherlock's mother's house. John made Sherlock pack a tie, even though Sherlock hates ties, and John made him unpack his special 'When-I-Wear-These-John-WILL-Have-Sex-With-Me' underwear.

"These are my favorite pair." Sherlock said, pulling them out of his suitcase.

"I know, they're mine, too. Which is why you're not going to wear them while we're staying at your mother's house."

"Why not?"

"I'm not going to have sex with you while we're at your mother's house."

"Why not?"

"Really, Sherlock?"

"I've had sex in my mother's house before."

John shook his head, "For the sake of not wanting to get into this now, I'm not going to ask. You're not wearing those this weekend. It's three days, you'll be fine."

Sherlock sighed and put the special underwear back into his drawer.

The weekend started early the next morning. A car from Mycroft arrived at 5 AM and drove them three hours to Sherlock's mother's house. They were to be there on time for breakfast, and when John asked why they didn't just go the night before, Sherlock got quiet.

"I just don't want to be up there for more time than I have to be."

"You don't like going to your mother's?"

"Not particularly. I like to see my mother. Everyone else is just in the way."

"Everyone else?"

"We have large Christmas parties every year."

"Why?"

"I have a large family."

"How large?"

Sherlock thought, John could tell he was counting. "My mother has six sisters, no brothers. But they're all married, so I've got six aunts and six uncles. And each of them have at least two children, so that's over twelve cousins. Plus, all of them have families, so that's-"

"I get the picture, Sherlock."

"There's just a lot to the Thomas family."

"Why is your mother's last name Thomas, anyway?"

"Well, you see, her and my father were never actually married. I guess they just never got around to it, probably both fearing that the other would leave one day. And one did, so, I guess they were right."

"But, then why is your last name Holmes?"

"It was my father's last name."

"I see."

"Actually, technically, my last name is Thomas Holmes. I don't have a middle name, it's just Thomas."

"I always thought that was your actual middle name."

"Nope."

John nodded. He literally learned something new about Sherlock every day.


	2. Chapter 2

They arrived at Sherlock's mother's house exactly at 8 AM. John was in awe by the house. It was huge, maybe the biggest house John had ever seen in person. There were pillars in the front, covering large windows that looked into the dining room and library. On the top, there were balconies overlooking everything below.

Inside was perhaps even more marvelous. The entrance room split into different sections, one went to the library, where a piano was located, and across from that was the dining room. Through the dining room was the massive kitchen. In the entrance room were the large stairs that led to the bedrooms. Under the stairs was an entrance to what John could see was the living room, which was huge. John was sure the house went beyond the living room, but nothing could be seen from the entrance room.

And everything was so clean and nicely decorated. The walls were a pleasant shade of brown, the stairs were a deep brown, and the floor was a brown wood flooring. Hanging everywhere were Christmas decorations, and at the curve of the stairs there was a medium-sized Christmas tree.

John was in love with this house.

Mycroft met the two men at the door. "Ahh, Sherlock, John. You've arrived. How was the ride? Smooth, I hope. That's a brand new car I've added to my collection, making its debut today just for you."

"Hello, Mycroft. When did you arrive?"

"Last night. Helena wanted to come early to help mother set everything up."

John looked confused, but he didn't ask any questions. Sherlock led John up to his old bedroom, which had Sherlock's childish touch, and a hint of remodeling. There was one, large bed in the center, next to the door to the restroom. There was a desk, a television, large windows, and an airplane floating from the ceiling. John laughed when he saw it.

"Cute, Sherlock."

"Oh, that. Yes, I had a minor obsessions with airplanes when I was a boy."

John smiled. It was cute. "So, who's Helena?"

"Mycroft's wife."

"You didn't tell me Mycroft is married."

"You never asked."

"Does he have any children?"

"Yes, two sons: Thomas and Michael."

"How old are they?"

"10 and 6."

"Adorable. So you're Uncle Sherlock?" John chuckled.

"Yes, yes. It's adorable." Sherlock flopped onto the bed and patted for John to lay next to him, so John did.

"So, you said everyone in your family has their own families?"

"Yes," Sherlock thought, "Actually, it appears I'm the only one not married or with children."

"Looks like you're the odd one out, then."

"Well, I'm also the adopted one, so."

"Sherlock, that's not what I meant."

"I know, it was a joke, John. You can laugh."

"It's not funny."

"Why? It will be funny when you see how widely different I look from everyone in this family. Then you'll be sorry you didn't laugh when you had the chance."

"I'm sure you're fine."

"You'll see."

"So, you're the only one without children?"

"Yes, well, you see John, it'd be a little difficult for me to reproduce-"

"I know, Sherlock."

"I'm also the only man with a boyfriend, so I really am the odd one out."

"You're my odd one."

"That's exactly what I mean."

"Funny, Sherlock."

Sherlock sat up and got off the bed. He reached his hand out to John. "We'd better get downstairs. My mother is dying to meet you."

"What does she look like, Sherlock? Your mother. Does she look like Mycroft?"

"No, no!" Sherlock was almost disgusted, "My mother is the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. She looks nothing like Mycroft."

John took Sherlock's hand and allowed himself to be led down the stairs.

Mycroft was downstairs with his younger son, Michael, playing a happy tune on the piano. Sherlock and John stood in the doorway and watched, and once the song ended, Michael jumped off the bench and ran as fast as he could as Sherlock.

"Uncle Sherlock!" The child hit Sherlock's stomach and in an instant was in Sherlock's arms.

Sherlock's face buried in the boy's thick, blonde curls. "Hello, Mikie, how are you?"

"Don't call him that, Sherlock. It's annoying."

"Shut up, Myc."

Mycroft sighed.

"I'm good, Uncle Sherlock." The boy came off Sherlock's shoulder. He looked at John, "Is this your boyfriend?"

John's heart pounded a little. He wasn't sure what Sherlock called him to his family. But the child was open, and wasn't skeptical or…disgusted at all. He was accepting.

Sherlock put the boy down and said, "Yes. Mikie, this is John. John this is Mikie."

"Michael, John. Please, call him Michael." Mycroft said, standing from the piano.

A set of footsteps were heard coming down the stairs and Thomas came into the library.

"Hello, Uncle Sherlock." Thomas said, sounding, sort of, smug.

"Hello, Thomas, how have you been?" Sherlock sounded more adult talking to the older boy, but still caring and loving, in a way.

"Fine, I guess. School is," Thomas glanced at Mycroft, "Wonderful." he said, sarcastically.

Sherlock chuckled, "Thomas, this is John."

"Hello, John," Thomas took John's hand and shook it, "Pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise, Thomas."

Then, Helena came into the house from the garden. John wondered what she could possibly be doing in the garden in the middle of winter, but seeing as how they were the _Holmes _family, John figured she could have been making her own flowers from a secret mixture the government made. He chuckled at himself, then watched Helena embrace Sherlock.

"Sherlock! How are you, darling? Well? You look more healthy, darling baby brother." She kissed his cheek, then wiped her lipstick off his face.

"Yes, well. Helena, this is John."

Helena turned at John quickly and hugged him tight. "Any boyfriend of Sherlock's is a friend of ours!"

Helena was absolutely not what John had in mind for Mycroft's wife, not that he actually ever pictured Mycroft having a wife. She was bright and bubbly, whereas John and Mycroft always seemed like the Grimm Reaper's sons. She was a lovely woman. She had long, brown hair that was thrown up in a bun that John was sure all mothers had. Her eyes were bright green and her smile was beautiful.

They sat around in the library for a while until Sherlock heard his mother's bedroom door open, then close. John and Sherlock were seated in chairs across the room from one another, playing with each boy, but John watched Sherlock the whole time. His ears seemed to perk up like a puppy's. His eyes got a little bit brighter and his smile widened as he watched the entrance to the library for his mother to walk through it. John could tell his heart was beating a little faster, he looked very eager. He combed his hair over and made sure he looked tidy, then his mother stepped through the entrance.

She was more perfect than John imagined. She was beautiful, and John _could _see features Mycroft got from her. She was tall, but not tall like Mycroft. She had auburn hair that was perfectly curled. Her eyes were hazel, very bright and full of love when she saw Sherlock. She had perfect teeth and perfect clothes and everything about her was perfect. She looked very young, she was obviously their mother, but one could mistake her for their older sister, or something. For a moment, John felt jealous that his family had imperfections.

Sherlock stood and hugged Marie tight. "Oh, my love, you wouldn't miss me so much if you actually attempted to visit every once in a while."

"You know I'm busy, mother. Or I would." He pulled away from her and smiled.

She hit him in the shoulder. "And you didn't call me Tuesday."

"I was _busy, _Mother. I called you Thursday."

John was confused. Never, _ever _has he heard Sherlock talk on the phone with his mother. He probably called her when John wasn't there, out of embarrassment. _Poor Sherlock_, John thought, _he shouldn't be ashamed to have a relationship with his mother._

Marie turned around quickly and looked at John. "Oh, Sherlock. He's more attractive than you made him out to be. And he's kind of short, darling."

"Oh, Mother, he's self-conscious about his height."

"He shouldn't be."

"Well, he is."

John felt terribly awkward standing there silently, letting Sherlock and his mother talk about him like he wasn't there. He shifted uncomfortably where he was standing.

"And he's blonde, darling. You never fancied blondes."

_Was this a flaw?, _John asked himself.

Sherlock shrugged, "Yes, well."

"I'm John, ma'am. It's nice to meet you." John stuck his hand out to Sherlock's mother.

She pushed his hand away and hugged him. John never pictured them a hugging family, but so far they were, "Hello, John. I've heard so much about you."


	3. Chapter 3

They went to the dining room after introductions. John was overjoyed when he saw multiple types of breakfast foods on the table; he was starving. Marie took the seat at the head of the table, Sherlock right next to her, John next to Sherlock, and Thomas next to him. Across from Sherlock was Helena, Mycroft next to her, and Michael next to Mycroft.

It all seemed too good to be true. _This family can not be this perfect_, John kept thinking to himself. They ate breakfast making small talk, and once breakfast was over the fighting broke out.

Sherlock kept making wise cracks at Mycroft, making annoying deductions and calling Mycroft on all of his bluffs. Likewise, Mycroft was saying very childish, mean things to Sherlock that was getting Sherlock worked up. Finally, Sherlock left the table.

"Sherlock Thomas Holmes, get back here!" Marie called to him, but by then he was in the kitchen. Marie looked at John, "He does that."

John heard a door slam, then footsteps going upstairs. It occurred to him that there was another staircase in the kitchen, and Sherlock was going to his room.

"I should, uhm, excuse me, ma'am." John said to Marie, then left the table.

John got up to Sherlock's room and went in without knocking. Sherlock was nowhere to be found, but the window was open. John went to the window and peered out, catching sight of a sulking Sherlock storming away from the property. John looked down, there was a rope ladder hooked to the window sill. He climbed down and followed Sherlock.

Sherlock climbed into his old tree house that Mycroft and his friends built for Sherlock when he was 8. Sherlock hadn't been in it in years, it was a bit difficult to climb up to it, but he made it.

John caught up with Sherlock and was standing at the foot of the tree looking up. "Sherlock, come down here."

"No."

"Please, sweetie? I want to talk to you."

"Then you come up here."

John did. It was difficult, but he made it up there. He laughed when he looked around. It wasn't big, it certainly wasn't big enough for two grown men, but somehow they managed. The walls were covered in arbitrary scientific things, like the Periodic Table and a poster of an atom.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, then Sherlock spoke. His voice was low and calm, almost like a secret was being told, "When I was younger and I'd get in trouble, I'd hide up here because I was afraid my mother was going to take me back to wherever she got me."

"She never would have, Sherlock."

"I know now, but I was a child. I didn't know." He pulled his legs up and held his knees to his chest. "Did my mother look upset?"

"Yes, she did."

Sherlock buried his face in his knees.

"Would it help if you apologized to Mycroft?"

"I don't apologize."

"I know, but-"

"Certainly not to Mycroft."

John was silent. After a minute or two, he moved closer to Sherlock, placing his arms around Sherlock's shoulder.

"When I get angry with you and you lock yourself in your old bedroom, is it because you don't want me to, in a sense, take you back to where you came from?" John asked.

Sherlock nodded.

John rested his head on Sherlock's shoulder, "I'm never going to do anything of the sort, Sherlock."

"You're never too sure, John."

"I am sure."

"How can you be?"

John looked at Sherlock. "Because I love you."

John had never told Sherlock he loved him before. Sherlock has said he loves John, more than once, but John never returned it because he felt like it'd hurt Sherlock less to not mean it, therefore not say it back, than say it and not mean it. But now he meant it. Now he meant every single bit of loving Sherlock, and kicked himself in the chest for not showing Sherlock all the love he deserves this entire time.

John got why Sherlock's mother was so fond of him and told him so every second. It's because Sherlock actually is very fragile, any little touch could break him into a million pieces, and it has before. Sherlock was in pain all the time, but he kept it in so often and for so long that it didn't even matter anymore. Sherlock's self-confidence was very low, apart form his deductions he doubted himself very much, and his mother made it her duty to make him confident. And now it was John's turn to do so.

"Look, John, just because I'm upset, you don't have to-"

"No, no, Sherlock. I'm not saying it because you're upset. I'm saying it because I feel it and I know I love you, and I'm never leaving you."

Sherlock half smiled. "Are you sure, John? Because-"

"Completely."

"Yes, but-"

"No 'buts'. I'm so in love with you, Sherlock." John took Sherlock's face in his hands and kissed him.

"I love you too, John." Sherlock whispered as he pressed his forehead against John's and held John's hand that was against his face.

"Should we go back inside? Your mother was upset. And I'm cold."

"Yes, I suppose we should."

Sherlock held John's hand on the way back to the house.

The rest of that afternoon and night was fairly normal. Nobody fought except the two boys. Sherlock apologized to his mother, but not to Mycroft. At bed time, Sherlock and John went up to Sherlock's old room and got ready for bed.

While Sherlock was using the restroom, John was looking around Sherlock's room. There were books on the bookshelf, some of his old clothes in the closet, a few toys on the shelf, and a few photographs on a different shelf.

One photo caught John's eye instantly. It was a black and white photo of two small boys, one probably 11 and the other 5. The 5-year-old was sitting on the older boy's lap, and they were both making the same funny face. The curls of the smaller one were wild around his head, like he was being twirled around, and the older boy's hair stood straight up, probably from sweat. The boys looked very happy with each other.

John didn't even hear Sherlock coming out of the bathroom until he was right behind him. "That photo was taken on my fifth birthday."

John jumped and almost dropped the photo. "It's a lovely photo, Sherlock. You look very happy."

"Yes, it was a great day. It was the first day my mother was truly happy since my father left."

John half smiled and kissed Sherlock's cheek. He put the photo down and went to the window. "Sherlock, why did you have a rope ladder hooked to your window?"

"I built it when I was probably seven. I'd use it to escape from the house easier."

"Why did you want to escape?"

Sherlock shrugged, "I don't know. I guess when I got into trouble I just wanted to go. Like today."

John nodded. "Sherlock, why does Helena call you 'Baby-brother'?"

Sherlock shrugged again, "I don't know. She's known me since I was, probably, seven-years-old. I, sort of, was her little brother, too."

"That's sweet." John said. He went to the bed and laid next to Sherlock. They fell asleep almost instantly.


	4. Chapter 4

The next morning, John woke up alone. Sherlock wasn't in the room, he wasn't in the bathroom. The window was closed, so John thought he was still in the house. His clothes were still hanging, so John figured it'd be all right if he went downstairs in his pajamas, as well.

John could hear laughing coming from the kitchen. He opened the door just a tiny bit, enough to see Sherlock's mother standing next to the island, and Sherlock next to her, leaning over the island so he was about an inch lower than her. Both their backs were facing John, but he could tell they were both happy. Sherlock looked so relaxed. He never thought Sherlock could have such bad posture.

The two laughed again. Marie looked at Sherlock and John could see her wide smile and loving eyes peering at Sherlock. She placed her arm around him, rubbing his opposite shoulder. John couldn't see Marie's lips, but after a second he saw Sherlock's eyes brighten more and read Sherlock's lips. "I love you, too." he said.

John's heart warmed. He's never seen Sherlock look at someone as admiringly as he looked at his mother. He knew that at this moment, Sherlock was the happiest he could possibly be.

Marie's arm left Sherlock and she went back to whatever she was doing. Sherlock looked down in front of his mother, it looked to John like they were reading a book. Sherlock took a sip of his juice, never for a second taking his eyes away from his mother. They laughed again. Her hand went to his face, stroked his cheek, then she leaned over and kissed his forehead.

John didn't hear Mycroft behind him until Mycroft spoke. "Disgusting, aren't they?"

John jumped backward and let the door swing shut. "You scared me, Mycroft."

"Why don't you just go into the kitchen?"

"I didn't want to disturb them."

"Oh, they're fine."

"No, Sherlock doesn't see her often. I don't want to bother him."

"Do as you wish, John." Mycroft went to the dining table and opened up the morning paper. "Your family doesn't do Christmas celebration, John?"

"No. I don't really get along with my sister, and my parents have both," John swallowed, "Passed on."

"Oh, I'm sorry, John."

John was surprised, both by Mycroft's human moment and the fact that Mycroft didn't know something about John. Unless Mycroft did know and he was just being polite.

"It's all right. Thank you."

John left Mycroft at the table. He left the dining room and went back up the stairs. He stopped to look at all the photos hanging from the wall the staircase was on.

There were a lot of photos, and they all seemed to be in a timeline. Toward the bottom of the stairs, there were photos of young boys, obviously Sherlock and Mycroft. There was a photo that must have been from the first time Sherlock came home, Mycroft didn't look too happy in those photos.

The boys in the photos got newer each couple of steps. John enjoyed the ones of Sherlock when he was a toddler, around 3 or 4, the most. He looked caught between the age of being a baby and being a 'big kid', and John thought he was simply adorable. His black curls were small duplicates of what they are now, his eyes were just a little bit brighter blue, his lips were brighter red than pink, and he had a few freckles here and there. He looked so happy in each of the pictures. Any of him and Mycroft together, they both looked happy.

In the ones that Sherlock looked about 8, or so, the two boys in the photos were looking less happy. Mycroft looked annoyed in most of them, while Sherlock just looked unhappy. John imagined those were moments that Mycroft was especially fed up with Sherlock, and it made Sherlock unhappy to make anyone around him unhappy.

In one picture, a younger Mycroft was bent down tying a younger Sherlock's shoe. Sherlock looked about 8, maybe 9. He didn't look happy or unhappy, the photo was obviously candid, but Mycroft looked angry.

"He used to make me tie his shoes until he was about 11," Mycroft said, John jumped because he didn't know Mycroft was behind him, "Some today would point to a sign of dyslexia, but at the time I just thought he was annoying."

"There are a lot of photos of you doing things for him."

"I know. For some reason it always makes my mother happy." Mycroft stepped down to the younger photos of the two. "In this one," he pointed at one where Mycroft was on his knees in front of Sherlock and they were hugging, "I had just gotten done tying his shoes and said, 'Thank you, father.' He quickly covered his mouth, and I hugged him. I thought he was going to start to cry, and I didn't want him to. He called me father a lot, on accident."

Just then, Sherlock was standing at the top of the stairs. "Enjoying the photos, John?"

"Oh, yes. They're lovely. You were so cute, Sherlock."

"_Were?_"

"I mean…you know what I mean."

Sherlock chuckled. "I'm going to take a bath, I'll be out in a little while." He turned back towards his bedroom.

"Sherlock, could you please wash your hair?" John called after him. He doubted Sherlock heard him.

John got breakfast and went back to Sherlock's bedroom. Sherlock was sitting cross legged on the bed playing with his toy airplane.

Sherlock didn't look up from the toy before he started talking, "You know, when I was younger I loved airplanes because they were a mystery to me. I never understood how they lifted," Sherlock made a lift motion with his hand, "And I never understood how it could be so heavy and stay in the air."

"And then you figured out how?"

"Of course I did." He put the plane down and patted the bed next to him.

John sat and looked at Sherlock. Sherlock looked at John and smiled, pulling something from behind his back and placing it in front of John.

"Happy Christmas, John."

"Oh, I forgot. Happy Christmas, Sherlock." John leaned over and kissed Sherlock.

"Open your gift."

"Not until…" John's voice trailed off as he reached onto the floor for Sherlock's gift, "You open yours." He placed the gift in front of Sherlock.

At the same time they unwrapped their gifts. John got Sherlock a new skull, a dinosaur skull. He wasn't sure if Sherlock was going to like it, he himself thought it was silly. But Sherlock was delighted. John got the entire set of The Chronicles of Narnia, first edition.

"How did you know these are my favorite books?"

Sherlock shrugged, "I have my sources."

John looked at Sherlock confuted.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "You told me, John."

"Yeah, but you remembered."

"Of course I did, I remember everything you say."

"You don't delete it, or whatever? It's useless to you."

"It's obviously not useless, John. Not you." Sherlock kissed John.

"Should we get dressed, then?"

"Sure. We've got to go downstairs to give the boys their gifts. Then, would you like to take a walk?"

John nodded.

Downstairs, Sherlock let the boys dive into his gifts to them. It was obvious to John that it was Sherlock's job to do everything Mycroft hated, to spoil them and give them what Mycroft didn't like. Sherlock got the boys an X-Box, something Mycroft not-so-subtly disagreed with. He also got the boys two games each, with about a dozen other little gifts that were noisy or messy; Play-Doh, paint, drums, maracas, and a few little toys and nic-nacks.

Sherlock looked pleased at making Mycroft angry. It's not like that's all why Sherlock spoiled the boys, he loved his nephews. It was just a bonus to make Mycroft cringe.


	5. Chapter 5

Around noon they went for a walk around the property. Sherlock showed John the stables, even though they have no horses. They saw a pond where no fish or ducks occupied right now, since it was too cold. Sherlock showed John the tree he fell out of when he was six and broke his arm. He showed John where Mycroft threw a rock at him and split his skull open. He showed John where a girl named Scarlett kicked him in the groin when they were 10, and Sherlock almost had to have surgery.

"You've been injured a lot, then?"

"I guess. I've broken eight bones." When John looked at Sherlock questioningly, he began again, "My arm, two fingers, two toes, nose, shin, ankle."

"Wow. All as a child?"

"No, I broke my shin on a case two years ago."

"Do I want to know how?"

"It's embarrassing."

"Oh, now I have to know."

Sherlock sighed, "I ran into a guard rail."

"How?"

"I tried to jump over it and it didn't work. That's also the only time I've passed out from pain."

"Impressive, Sherlock." John said, mockingly.

"I'm not invincible, John."

"Yes, well. I've been shot, so."

"Then, I guess you are invincible." John blushed. "Don't be like that, John. You almost died and didn't."

"I know but I'm not invincible." Sherlock reached over to John and pinched his chest. "Ow! That hurt, Sherlock."

"I guess you're not invincible. Wimp."

John laughed for a second, then darted at Sherlock. He tackled Sherlock to the ground.

"What are you doing, John!" Sherlock managed to gain control and rolled over John. They wrestled on the ground for a minute, then Sherlock quickly stood and ran away.

"Come back here, Sherlock!" He ran after Sherlock.

The two men ran through the forest for a long time. John could see Sherlock, he was right behind him, but Sherlock was just a bit faster.

Finally, John _almost _caught him. Almost. He reached out to grab Sherlock's coat, but Sherlock slipped away quickly. He put on the speed and ran forward, looked back at John, and hit a tree.

It was loud. Everything cracked all over, it even echoed. John stopped and watched Sherlock fall back onto the ground, motionless. His nose started leaking red, and his skin was red and bruised. John ran to Sherlock and took Sherlock's head in his hands.

John was choking back a laugh and asked Sherlock if he's ok, "Sherlock, sweetie, are you all right? Sherlock open your eyes."

Sherlock opened his eyes and grabbed his nose. "Don't laugh at me, John. This is your fault."

"My fault? How?"

"You were chasing me!"

John began to chuckle. "You ran into a tree."

"Shut up."

John's laughter became louder. Soon he couldn't control it. Sherlock reached up and punched John's shoulder, then he couldn't help it. He laughed, too.

The two walked back to the house still laughing. They went into the downstairs bathroom to clean Sherlock up, and then they weren't laughing.

"Is it broken?"

"It might be."

"Perfect."

"You have bruising around it already."

"Give me a mirror." John handed Sherlock a mirror. He groaned, "Oh, I look awful."

"I think it's kind of sexy."

"Please, John. I ran into a tree."

John laughed again. "It's still cute, ok?" John leaned down and kissed Sherlock.

"I need a shower."

"You mean you're going to be clean for your mother's party?"

Sherlock sighed and said nothing. They went upstairs and were going to shower when Sherlock remembered that he forgot something. He left the room quickly.

John showered and came out of the bathroom. Sherlock was nowhere to be found. He dressed and went searching for Sherlock. He wandered almost the whole house, he even went to the tree house, until he finally found Sherlock in the bedroom of young Michael, holding the child close to himself as he and the child appeared to be asleep. John opened the door more than it was open, startling Sherlock out of his slumber.

"John, I didn't hear you come down the hall."

"I was wandering trying to find you. I'll leave you alone, then."

"No, it's all right. Come in, sit down." John sat next to Sherlock and Michael. "What time is it?"

"3:15."

"Oh good, I've got time, then."

"Time for what?"

"To shower."

"Where'd you disappear to? Here?"

"No. I went to help my mother with her last minute preparations. But when I couldn't find her, the boys invited me to play X-Box with them. Then Michael decided he needed a nap, so we came in here."

"Where's Thomas?"

"Playing his games." Sherlock rested his head on Michael's and closed his eyes again.

"Do you want me to let you go?"

"No, it's all right. I've got to get up right now." He maneuvered his way out from under Michael, then laid the boy on his bed and left the room without waiting for John.

By the time John got back to Sherlock's room, Sherlock was in the shower. John went into the bathroom and sat on the toilet, waiting for Sherlock to come out.

"John, will you get me a towel from the closet?"

John went to the closet to get Sherlock a towel, and as he was doing so he saw the clothes Sherlock had set out for himself: jeans, a t-shirt, and his special underwear. John went into a sort of daze. Instead of going back into the bathroom right away, John took his clothes off. When he went back to the bathroom, he opened the shower curtain and stepped in.

"John, what are you doing?"

"I don't know, I just want to-" John cut himself off by kissing Sherlock.

"I thought you said you weren't going to have sex with me at my mother's house."

"I thought you weren't going to pack your special underwear."

"This is because of the underwear?"

"No, this is because…" John pulled Sherlock closer and kissed him again, then said, "Because I love you."

"Or because I'm naked."

"Yes, because you are naked."

Sherlock and John began to do things to each other, and soon enough John was behind Sherlock easing into doing things to him. When they got everything going, Sherlock was moaning and groaning, while John was being oddly quiet.

"John, you can make noise."

"I don't want to be too loud. There's a room next to ours, you know."

"I know, but my room is sound proof."

"Your room is sound proof?"

"Yeah, I had problems with explosions when I was a kid. Mycroft had my entire room and bathroom sound proofed without my mother knowing."

"Genius. We should consider getting the apartment sound proofed."

"It is."

"You sound proofed our apartment?"

Sherlock moaned. "Yes."

"When?"

"When I moved in, right before you did." He moaned again.

"Brilliant."

"Stop talking."

John didn't talk any more. John moaned. And Sherlock moaned. For what seemed like ages, they both made noises and finally there were no more. The shower was turned off and they were in Sherlock's room getting dressed.

There was something John really loved about Sherlock wearing jeans. Of course he loved that Sherlock wore _tight _jeans, but when Sherlock wore a t-shirt and jeans, he was more relaxed. He was between the laziness of wearing pajamas all day and the alertness of wearing dress clothes. He was more boyish, he looked younger, and he just seemed happier.

On top of that, Sherlock was home. He loved being home, that was obvious to John. But there was something about him that made him more human these last few days. He enjoyed spending time with his family, even Mycroft. He loved seeing his mother, and his mother was happy to see him. John liked the different, happy Sherlock that was at his mother's house.

They went down stairs to join the family. Sherlock's Aunt Lacy and Uncle Robert had arrived, along with Sherlock's cousin Frank, who was his age, his wife Darcy, and their two daughters, Kelly and Amy. The two girls were the ages of Sherlock's nephews, so they all played together nicely on the new X-Box.

"Sherlock!" Marie exclaimed when Sherlock took his spot on the couch next to her, "What happened to your face?"

"I, uh, ran into a tree." Sherlock said quietly, taking a sip of his drink.

"You did what?" Mycroft asked.

"He ran into a tree." John said, chuckling after the sentence.

Mycroft began to laugh, "How did you do that?"

"John was chasing me." Sherlock sounded annoyed. Mycroft laughed harder, and in a few minutes the whole room was laughing. "It's not that funny."

"Yes it is, Baby Brother." Helena said.


	6. Chapter 6

Around 5 o'clock, Sherlock and John went back to their room to change for the party. Sherlock was sulking. He didn't like dressing up more than he did on a regular basis. John thought it was a lot for him to take in; bathing and dressing up all in the same day.

"John, tie my tie." Sherlock draped his tie around his neck and walked up to John. John pulled it off his neck and draped it around his own, then stood in the mirror and began to tie it. "You can't tie it just by looking at me?"

"No, I get confused."

"But that doesn't make any sense."

"To me it does." John lifted the tie off his neck and put it around Sherlock's. Then, he tightened it as Sherlock pulled his jacket on.

"I hate ties."

"I know."

"Why do I have to wear it?"

"To look nice."

The truth is, John didn't like Sherlock wearing a tie. He looked weird and it didn't fit him. He liked the color of tie Sherlock picked out, but he still looked odd.

"I don't want to wear it, John." He began to pull it off his head.

"Don't you want to please your mother?"

Sherlock lowered it again. "Oh, do not use that on me."

"It works."

"It's not a game, John."

"All right, I'm sorry."

They went downstairs to meet the rest of Sherlock's family. By 6 o'clock, three more of Sherlock's aunts had arrived, along with their husbands and children. Sherlock wasn't exaggerating, he had a huge family, and he did look different. His aunts all had a certain shade of red hair that wasn't quite red and wasn't quite brown, like his mother's. Each of them had the same green eyes, and the same fair skin tone. They were all beautiful women, and it sort of creeped John out that they all looked so much alike.

There were children everywhere, being rowdy and having fun. There were adults standing around conversing. But it wasn't dull. It was far from dull, John thought.

With every person John met, Sherlock proudly introduced him as his boyfriend. Sherlock wasn't ashamed, and nobody made a face or had a tone that Sherlock should be ashamed. John was happy for Sherlock that, although everyone else in the world hates the way he is in every aspect, his family was welcoming and accepting.

A few of his aunts made comments. The first was Jennifer, "Oh, Sherlock, you had better keep to this one. Not like that awful girl you had a few years back. What was her name, dear?"

"Irene," Sherlock sulked and sipped his drink.

"She was dreadful, but John seems nice."

The second was Martha, "Sherlock, I didn't know you weren't seeing that girl anymore. Although, I'm glad you're not. She was awful."

"Yes, thank you, Aunt Martha." Sherlock sulked again and walked away.

The last was Cassandra, "What happened to Irene, Sherlock?"

"We broke up about five years ago, Aunt Cassandra."

"And where did you meet John?"

"He was my flat mate first."

"While you were dating Irene?"

"No. After."

"Is he a rebound, Sherlock? Because rebounds-"

"No. I've been with John for one year, Irene was five years ago. I wouldn't say he is a rebound. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm sure my mother could use my help." Sherlock walked away. He was getting more sad than angry by people asking about Irene, but John didn't let his curiosity overcome him just yet. He stayed next to Sherlock wherever he went, and Sherlock kept his hand on John's back the entire night.

Around 7, the family sat for dinner. The dining room had been transformed from having one table to having two large tables, plus a smaller table for the children. Everyone sat at their assigned seats. Marie was at the head of the table again, Sherlock next to her, John next to Sherlock, one of Sherlock's aunts next to John, and from there John was lost. He'd met everyone, but he was never terribly good with names.

Dinner reminded John of his own family dinners as a kid, even though it was entirely different. John's was always at their tiny little home far away from London. At John's, there were only ever four people at the dinner table. At John's, there was always an alcoholic father. At John's, there was never small talk. They sat in awkward silence all through every meal. At John's, nobody was ever as accepting as Sherlock's family.

All through dinner, Sherlock gave John little bits of trivia about his family members. One uncle just lost his job. One second-cousin was getting braces. Another recently got his cast off. One cousin is having an affair. Another cousin is pregnant.

"I doubt that, Sherlock."

"Why?"

"Why wouldn't she tell anyone?"

Sherlock shrugged, "Women are strange."

After dinner, everyone retired to the great sitting room. Games were played while the children played their own games. Although all the separate families mixed and mingled, Sherlock stayed at his mother's side all night.

Around 9, gifts were distributed and torn into. Sherlock's mother and Mycroft both got John a gift, which he didn't expect and thought was very nice. Luckily, Sherlock put John's name on the tag to Mycroft and John thought to bring Sherlock's mother something nice.

Sherlock was happy with the books his mother bought him and the two nice shirts Mycroft bought him.

The party died down around midnight when everyone began to leave. Sherlock's first aunt that arrived stayed there at Marie's house, along with random children from each family that chose to spend the night with Thomas and Michael. Each boy had their own room there, it was apparent that Mycroft and his family were there often. It hurt John a little bit that Sherlock didn't see his mother often, when he obviously longed to very much.

Sherlock and John went back to Sherlock's bedroom after the last of the party left. John was very, very tired, but Sherlock was jittery and wide awake. John was also quiet, which Sherlock didn't like. They were fluffing their pillows when Sherlock finally spoke.

"You've got questions."

"A few, yeah."

"Go ahead, then."

"Why don't you ever visit your mother?"

"Do you want the honest truth?"

"Of course."

"I don't want you to come with me."

"Why not?"

"I like to have alone time with her."

"I don't have to come, Sherlock."

"Really?"

"Yes. It won't hurt my feelings."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course."

"Next."

"Your family is very…accepting. And understanding."

"Of what?"

"Of you," John sounded skeptical, like it was a secret, "And me."

"Oh, of course." Sherlock picked up his second pillow and patted it, "Well, when I was thirteen, I told my mother that I might have liked boys. There was one boy in particular. He came over for my mother's birthday party, and after he left a huge fight broke out. All of the children were sent out, but I sat on the stairs and listened. One of my aunts started fighting with my mother, telling her she got a bad child and that I was wrong, that she should take me back, really."

"I'm sorry, Sherlock. Then, what happened?"

"My mother told her she was happy with me no matter what, and that anyone that was going to judge her son should leave the house and not come back." Sherlock breathed deep, having not taken a breath that whole sentence, "So, two of my aunts left and haven't returned. Everyone else has been fine since."

"I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing, it's not your fault."

"I know, but-"

"I'm over it. Next."

John didn't know if he wanted to ask the next thing on his mind. He wasn't sure if he wanted to get into this discussion with Sherlock. At least not here. But he asked anyway, out of curiosity.

"Sherlock, who's Irene?"

Sherlock stopped and looked at John. He wasn't sure if he wanted to share this with John, but John looked genuinely curious and usually shared when Sherlock asked him questions. So he told him. "Irene is my ex-girlfriend."

"I thought they weren't really your area."

"Well, she dumped me. I wouldn't say she was my area, would you?"

John sort of chuckled, "No, I guess not. What happened?"

"I proposed. And thirty seconds later, she broke up with me."

"Why?"

"I don't know, she didn't want to marry me."

"But you wanted to marry her."

"What gave you that idea?"

"You don't have to be smart with me."

"Then don't ask stupid questions." Sherlock sighed, "I'm sorry."

"You don't have to talk about it any more."

"No, no. It's not that. I don't mind anymore. I got over it."

"How?"

Sherlock shrugged, "I don't know. After a while it just didn't matter."

"Is that why you were a drug addict?"

"That and other things."

"What other things?"

"I just got bored one day. Too bored. Too bored and too alone and too useless. I tried to end it."

"You overdosed?"

"Yes."

"And then what?"

"I lived here for a while. Then, I went back to London and everything changed."

"Is that when you met me?"

"Don't flatter yourself, John. It was before that."

John nodded. "Do you ever miss her?"

"Who?"

"Irene."

"Of course not." Sherlock crawled across the bed and placed his arms around John's neck, "I've got you now."

John wrapped his arms around Sherlock and kissed him. His hands wandered up Sherlock's back, rubbing him gently and soothingly. "I'm glad, too."

"Oh, yes. You told me you love me yesterday."

"You're right I did."

Sherlock kissed John. "And you still do? Even after Thomas family Christmas?"

"Of course." John pressed his forehead against Sherlock's. "I love you very much, Sherlock Holmes."

"And I you, John H. Watson." They kissed again, then Sherlock quickly broke away and looked John. "What does the H stand for?"

"Hamish."

"Really?"

"Yes. It's Scottish for James."

"I know that. Just…really?"

"Yes, it was my father's name."

"I see." Sherlock kissed John again. "Well, you'd better be going to sleep now."

"Yes, I'm very tired." John let go of Sherlock and laid in the bed while Sherlock got off the bed and put on his robe. "Where are you going?"

"I've just got to do some stuff."

"It's almost one in the morning, what could you possibly have to do?"

"Nothing, nothing. I'll be back in a little while. Just go to sleep, alright?"

"Alright. Goodnight, Sherlock."

"Goodnight, John." Sherlock kissed him quickly and left the room.


	7. Chapter 7

John did fall asleep for half an hour. When he woke up Sherlock wasn't next to him. He began to panic a little. He was still half asleep and unsure of where he was, then panicked because he was unsure of where Sherlock was. He got out of the bed and realized he was still in Sherlock's old room in his mother's house.

He opened the door to the hallway and it was dark. All the lights were out, rightfully so, except one. Down the hall, where Sherlock pointed out to be his mother's room, light was coming from the door that was cracked two inches. John went to the door and peeked in.

It was almost the same scene as the kitchen, except Marie was sitting on her bed and Sherlock was kneeling next to it. His head was resting on his arms that were cross on the bed, her hand was stroking his hair. She was laughing, but Sherlock wasn't. He was probably making her laugh because he didn't often laugh at his own jokes.

John was as quiet as he could be, trying to hear their conversation. He could hear Marie's laughter, but he couldn't hear Sherlock's voice.

She stopped laughing after a few minutes. Now, he could kind of hear her talk.

What he made out first was, "What about John, then?" Sherlock shrugged. "Do-" John read her lips, "Love him?" Sherlock nodded, then buried his face in his arms. She pulled his chin up again and spoke to him. "Don't be-" John couldn't hear her. Then, he read the words, "Marry him?" and "Family." Sherlock shrugged. John read, "Best" and "Happy". He could tell Sherlock was smiling. Sherlock was happy.

Something inside John warmed a little bit. He had, in fact, thought of marrying Sherlock one day. Not really a family, John thought they were a bit too old now, but being married wouldn't be different than what it was now. It would just make everything more stable and set. Not now, of course. They'd only been together a year.

Of course, he did love Sherlock. He loved everything about Sherlock and he loved every second of being with him. He loved all of Sherlock's odd quirks and Sherlock's massive intellect. He wondered if one day Sherlock would propose. Then, he remembered he was rejected marriage once before, so the signs pointed to Sherlock never proposing.

John began to feel sad. He wondered if Sherlock ever compared him to Irene and that's why he was just waiting for John to walk out. Everyone had walked out on him at least once, except Mycroft and Marie. They were his family, he had faith in them, not John.

John had the sudden urge to make Sherlock see that he wasn't going anywhere. He could propose, but even he had to admit that he wasn't ready and it was too soon. He told Sherlock he loves him, but he knows first hand that love can only go so far. He didn't know what to do besides tell Sherlock a million times how much he means to him.

"John, we've got to stop meeting like this."

John was so startled he fell against the banister of the stairs. "Mycroft, you scared me."

"That is apparent." Mycroft peeked into the room and sighed, "Stop spying, John."

"You are telling me about spying? The man that offered me money to spy on his brother."

"Your point?"

"Never mind." John turned around to go back to Sherlock's room.

"You really should try to get him up here more often. It makes her very happy." Mycroft called after him.

John turned back to Mycroft, "I can tell. But I can't make him. It has to be his idea."

"No, I'm sure you can suggest he come here for the weekend and he would. As long as you accompany him."

"He doesn't want me to, he told me."

"Oh, yes. He'd want his alone time."

John nodded and turned to go back to Sherlock's room again.

Mycroft called after John again, "Goodnight, John. I'm glad you were able to attend."

"Thank you, Mycroft. Goodnight."

John felt fairly welcome in Sherlock's family. It helped that Sherlock's relatives are so understanding of everything Sherlock is. John's relatives were never this understanding or accepting. When John was 16, he brought home a boy he'd met at school. The boy was 16, too, to anyone it would've looked like they were just best friends. Which, they were. But John's father wasn't having it.

John already had minimal contact with his father, but this was the final straw. John's father kicked him out for the two weeks of Christmas break, until John's sister told her father she was the same way and John's father kicked her out, too. Then, his mother left and took both of her children back in.

When John was 18, he enlisted in the British Military and he hadn't really been home since. He used to his mother all the time, but when she went back to his father, it all got chaotic and he thought it best to stay away. Then, both of his parents passed away with many things unsaid. Then, John got shot and his life was turned even more for a loop. Then, he met Sherlock. And now his life was completely upside down.

But John was glad Sherlock had a nice family and people that did care about him. Sure, his family didn't ignore the lack of Sherlock's charm, but they were less likely to get annoyed with him, which actually made Sherlock less likely to make deductions out loud to really annoy them. He didn't treat them the same way he treated Lestrade or Sally, and he definitely didn't treat them like he treated Anderson. These were nice people, and Sherlock was nice to them.

Sherlock came back to his and John's bed around 4 AM. John felt the bed sink next to him, and he woke up a little bit.

"Mmmm, Sherlock?"

"Yes, go back to sleep."

"What time is it? Where have you been?"

"It's nearly 4, I just had some things to tend to."

"Were you in your mother's room this whole time?"

"How did you know that?"

"I saw."

"You were spying?"

John began to snore lightly. Sherlock smiled and wrapped his arms around John, then quickly fell asleep next to him.

The next morning was the same story as the morning before. John woke to an empty bed and a missing Sherlock. It was 10 AM, late for John, but he let Sherlock have his time with his mother. John stayed in bed, and half an hour later, Sherlock came back.

"Good morning, John." Sherlock said, leaning over John to kiss him.

"You know, it's actually weird to wake up with you not next to me."

"Is it? How do you mean?"

"I don't know, I guess I'm just used to it."

"I see."

"Would you feel weird if you woke up and I was missing?"

"You usually are."

"Fair point."

John sat up and began to talk. Sherlock was only half listening, so he was only half answering. "You know I mean it when I say I love you, right Sherlock?"

"Yes."

"No, Sherlock, I mean it. Every bit of it."

"All right."

"Sherlock, listen to me!" John shouted. John didn't often shout, so Sherlock knew to put the skull down and listen. "I love you, very, very much."

"I know, John."

"But how do you know?"

"You've told me."

"But sometimes words only go so far, Sherlock."

"But yours go a long way."

"What do you mean?"

Sherlock smiled, "I never thought you'd tell me you love me. I was living perfectly fine believing that you'd never tell me."

"Why would you think that?"

"Nobody ever had before. Not even Irene."

"She didn't tell you she loved you?"

"No, not once. But it was all right. But you've told me. So I know you mean it."

"Yes, but," John got on his knees in front of Sherlock, "I want you to know how much I mean it."

"I believe you, John. Do you believe me?"

"Of course I do."

"Good. We understand each other."

"Yes. I love you."

Sherlock's attention was back to his skull, "I love you, too."

John and Sherlock at breakfast, or brunch, if you will. Around 3 o'clock, Mycroft left, and Sherlock felt it was time to leave as well.

"Are you sure you can't leave later?" Marie addressed both of them.

"We've got to be at Helena's parents in an hour. So sorry, Mother." Mycroft said.

"Yes, and we've got…things to do." Sherlock said.

They said their goodbyes, Sherlock's mother cried a little, and Sherlock sulked to the car. Marie grabbed John's coat sleeve as he walked away, and pulled him back to her.

"John, listen. I think you're wonderful, and Sherlock does, too. I just don't want to see my baby hurt, all right?"

"I don't intend on ever hurting him, ma'am."

"He loves you very much."

"I know, and I love him, too.

"Good. He," She began to cry a little, "He just needs someone to love him."

"I do, ma'am. I love him."

"Good, John. It was nice to meet you, thank you for coming."

John hugged her one last time and went to the car.

As he got in the car, Sherlock asked, "What did she say to you."

"Nothing."

Sherlock eyed John, then went back to his phone, "All right."

The ride home was silent because Sherlock slept the whole way. John stared out the window and stroked his hair, listening to the silent breaths of his one true love.


End file.
